


and the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

by eclectictsunami



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Distracting with sex, M/M, Post-Finale, Rough Sex, Violence, canon-typical assholery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclectictsunami/pseuds/eclectictsunami
Summary: Tommy before, Alfie (and Tommy) after.





	and the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be from Tommy's POV. Then Alfie muscled his way in, as he is wont to do.
> 
> Title from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds' "Do You Love Me Part 2." (If, for some reason, you haven't listened to Let Love In, please go do that. Do it for yourself.)

Here, for what might be his greatest test yet, Tommy Shelby takes a moment to reflect on his kingdom.

Loath as he is to admit it, much as he would never breathe a word of it to anyone, there were things Michael was right about.

He wants a great many things, it’s true, some things that have nothing to do with money or ambition or power. He wants Grace back, not the shade that has come to taunt him but the real woman, who sang and smiled and forgave his sins. He wants Lizzie to feel like his friend and partner again, instead of the jealousy and resentment. He wants to be a good father and brother, to have something that looks like peace instead of relentlessly striving forward, pushing himself closer to the brink with each passing day. He wants it all to fucking stop.

He wants - wants maybe most of all - to go back to Margate, and sit in that armchair across from Alfie Solomons, and have a cigarette in silence while he talks. Maybe Alfie can make him laugh. Maybe he can tell him something he doesn’t already know. Maybe he can close his eyes just for a moment, and if Alfie rambles on long enough he might even fall asleep.

He’s truly, truly fucking tired.

But Michael doesn’t understand that there’s no rest for him, no retirement; never will be. That’s not the way he was built.

He takes a deep breath, and lowers his head, and moves forward.

—

Alfie Solomons turns off the radio at last with a sigh, and readies himself to go downstairs. He has no idea if Tommy Shelby’s going to darken his doorway tonight, but the shifty little fuck has a way of showing up when you least expect him to and he doesn’t really fancy being ambushed. He brings his gun, of course, because it’s best to be prepared in situations like these; he also doesn’t bother to do up his trousers, because, well, it’s best to be prepared in situations like these, and he’s a hopeful sort of man, isn’t he?

He’s half-asleep in his chair when he hears the man come in. Straightens immediately and makes sure his gun is in hand - can’t be caught off guard by this man, especially when he must have been kicked in the fucking teeth as bad as he was last night.

“Hello, Tommy.”

A deep sigh, in return. “Hello, Alfie.”

“So.” Alfie clears his throat, sits up straighter in his chair. “Didn’t quite go as planned, eh?”

“No.”

He looks at Tommy at last. He looks - better, somehow, than he expected, but also worse. Disheveled, and exhausted, so different from the man Alfie saw a matter of hours before. Not falling apart or screaming with rage, but thrumming with energy, something simmering just under that cold skin. He’s always teetered just on the edge, Tommy has. Alfie wonders if the man is here to kill him, after all.

“What happened?” Alfie asks, congenially, watching Tommy’s face with his one good eye. His hand tightens on the gun.

“I don’t know.” Tommy’s not looking at him, doesn’t appear to be looking at fucking anything, really. “Don’t fucking know.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t a problem on my end, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Alfie continues, “if you’re thinking of blaming me for shit going fucking sideways - “

“No,” Tommy dismisses with a wave of his hand, so easily that Alfie is almost offended. “No, this wasn’t you, I know that.” He scrubs a hand over his face, and when he pulls it away he looks more composed, almost eerily calm. Alfie misses the look that came before, in spite of himself.

Without ever wiping that smirk off his face - and, oh, it might even be convincing if Alfie couldn’t see that telltale tremor in his hand - Tommy walks over, casual as you please, and straddles Alfie’s thighs with his and settles right in his lap to kiss him.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed; it’s not even the fiftieth. It is, however, both the first time in a long time and the first time since Tommy shot him in the fucking face so he should probably mount at least a token protest, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Tommy’s mouth is cool and sweet, kissing him for all he’s worth with zero fucking hesitation, deep and slow and settled on Alfie’s lap like he never left. Alfie’s hands are firm on his waist before he has even a second to think, and Tommy’s hands are gripping tight to the godawful ruin that is his face now, uncaring of the scar tissue, just pressing close to kiss him harder.

“Pretty presumptuous of you,” Alfie mutters between kisses, because even now - especially now - he can’t quite keep his mouth shut, “to assume - to come into, mm, my house and just expect me to be - to be fucking waiting for you - “

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy snarls, rolling his bony hips downwards and pressing a savage bite to Alfie’s neck.

“I’m just saying, yeah,” Alfie continues, unable to help himself, “there could be someone waiting for me upstairs, right, or I could just be - fucking offended, getting shot in the face can really take a man out of that sort of mood - “

“Then throw me out,” Tommy growls, and finally kisses him hard enough that Alfie truly does shut up.

He would really, really like to fuck Tommy right against the wall, that or bend him over the couch, but his back is already screaming at the thought and he’d like to walk tomorrow as well as assure that Tommy can’t. They end up in his bed, which is a bit more civilized than what he’d prefer at the moment, but he’s got Tommy squirming and gasping on all fours while Alfie fucks him absolutely senseless, like he’s going to get every bit of animal revenge on him out through his dick, so that’s still pretty fucking good. He wants to shove Tommy’s face down into the mattress, but he also wants to hear him scream; he settles, finally, for gripping his hair with his fist and tugging his head back till he can see the tendons straining in his neck, alternating between digging his other hand into Tommy’s hip and bracing it against the wall so that they don’t fall off the fucking bed. Tommy eggs him on, too, reaches behind him to grip at Alfie’s thigh if he lets up for even a second, even out of sheer fucking exhaustion; pulls him deeper and deeper, tilts his own head back even further.

He wants to refuse to let Tommy come, wants to be fucking mean about it, but he’s not about to deprive himself of the particular pleasure of watching that, is he, so he jerks Tommy off fast and too-rough, keeps squeezing after he comes until he’s over-sensitive and wincing away, digs his fingernails into his pale thighs. He wants to see the bruises that’ll be there tomorrow, dig in again and again and refuse to let them heal.

Afterward, Tommy rests his head on Alfie’s thigh while he smokes, quiet. Even now, weak-limbed and limp from being fucked, Alfie can feel the tension start to build up in him again, the way his shoulders are already starting to tense and his face close off.

“I fucked up, tonight, Alfie,” Tommy says, finally, so quiet he can barely hear. “Fucked everything.”

“Yes, well.” Alfie sighs. “I’m not too thrilled about it myself, seeing as how I actually did put my arse on the line here, not to mention that I was really quite looking forward to hearing that man get shot in the head, so if you could spare a thought for me here it would be very much appreciated. I know you like to think of yourself as infallible, mate, but these things do actually happen from time to time, even to the great Tommy Shelby - “

“I let myself lose,” Tommy says. “I was distracted, or not smart enough, or fast enough, and I fucking failed.” He doesn’t quite sound angry, not the way Alfie’s used to hearing it, and his teeth are gritted so tight it must ache. As though he hasn’t gotten himself sore enough tonight already.

“As I said,” Alfie continues cheerfully, as though he was never interrupted, “life really is much easier when you’re dead, as I’ve found. Maybe retirement’s in the cards for you, after all.” He pats Tommy firmly on the shoulder, the way one might to encourage and console a child. “Could take up with me here at Margate. Watch the birds.”

“The birds,” Tommy echoes, flatly.

“Oh, sure.” Tommy’s looking up at him now, eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “The quiet life, mate. You’d love it. Watching the ships go by. Did you know that there are seven different types of seagulls? I keep a notebook, yeah, to keep track of all the ones I see. Fascinating stuff. It’s a very relaxing type of life, for those of us who are getting older. Really a lovely thing, mate, listen to the sea, take a kip on the couch when you get a bit tired. You might even want to teach yourself to knit, make yourself a few sweaters for when you get cold in the evenings. Of course, you’ll find yourself getting tired a bit earlier in the evening, now, you’ve got to get your rest. Got to make sure I don’t wear you out, don’t I? Would feel awfully guilty if I - “

Slowly, deliberately, Tommy puts his cigarette out directly on Alfie’s thigh.

“FUCK!” Alfie roars. He rears up like a bull, shoving Tommy bodily out of bed so that he falls arse-first onto the floor. “What the bloody fuck, mate? Have you lost your fucking mind? You were this close, this fucking close to my cock and I swear - “ He flicks the ash away, sees the perfectly round burn on the inside of his thigh. “I will fucking kill you, Tommy, I will cut your cock off and fucking feed it to you, I swear it - “

On the floor, Tommy is fucking laughing. His eyes are gleaming, shining with the kind of mania that usually comes before tearing a man to pieces. He’s looking at Alfie like his anger makes him fucking gleeful.

“Jesus fuck,” Alfie groans. “Oh, fucking hell. I swear to God, Tommy.” He reaches over and hauls him up from the floor - fuck, his back is going to be fucking killing him when the adrenaline wears off, he’s going to have to dip back into those drugs again - and pulls him back onto the bed. “You fucking maniac,” he groans, roughly squeezing the bruises already forming on Tommy’s hips and thighs; Tommy hisses and arches his back, bares his throat in a move that has to be fucking calculated but is no less effective. “You bloody fucking madman, Tommy Shelby, I could kill you.”

Tommy’s not laughing anymore, but his eyes are still full of that strange gleam, arms winding around Alfie’s neck. “Yes,” he says, and presses a kiss under his jaw, the tenderest touch Alfie’s had from him all night. “Yes, Alfie, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I meant this to be happier, but it is what it is. If these two putting up with each other's shit isn't true love, I don't know what is.


End file.
